


Friends with benefits?

by Hotaru_Tomoe



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5 Times, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Drinking, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Endgame, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 16:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18525652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hotaru_Tomoe/pseuds/Hotaru_Tomoe
Summary: Five times Steve and Tony have casual sex and avoid having an adult conversation, and one time they don’t.





	Friends with benefits?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tic Tac Stony of the FB group _Oh Danny Boy, I love you so_ , using the prompt: Friends with benefits.
> 
> The title is not because I’m lazy (well, I am, but it’s not the point), I swear it makes sense.  
> Not betaed, English is not my first language, there'll be mistakes.

0

It doesn’t start with a quick, drunk roll between the sheets. 

That is a turning point for sure, but it doesn’t start there, it would be stupid to think otherwise.

Maybe it starts with Tony, who barely survived a space trip, opening the vault, taking the shield and returning it to Steve.

“I believe… Well… this is yours,” he says.

It’s lame, there’re so many other things Tony wants to say, and Steve too: apologies, explanations, thanks, but the moment is all wrong, surrounded as they are by the other Avengers, with Thor and Okoye plotting the best way to chop Thanos in little pieces, Rocket ramblings about how arretrate the technology on Earth is and “fuck, we're going into a mad Titan's den with a blunt pocket knife”, and Bruce still having his little identity crisis.

Only Natasha looks intently at them, one eyebrow arched, as if to say,  _ “Really? Is this your best?” _

So Tony shoves ungracefully the shield to Cap’s chest, who mumbles “thanks”, and off they go to save the universe.

Or maybe it starts with a cozy party in the Stark Tower, just before the Ultron mess, with Tony inviting some war veterans, because he’s sure Steve would like it.

Or maybe it started even before, with a heated argument on the S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier, with Steve daring Tony to put on his suit, and then saying those words again after the explosion, this time his voice full of silent concern, like  _ “Put your suit on, I don’t wanna to see you hurt.” _

What started?

Well, to know that, we must come back to the quick, drunk roll between the sheets.

 

1

They did it. 

One in 14,000,605 chances and they did it, everyone came back and the universe is safe.

Hooray, everywhere people are celebrating.

Everett Ross came to talk, harassing them with some red tape shit, but fortunately his wizard husband reclaimed him shortly after, pushing him into a dimensional portal and silencing his protests with a long kiss, so Tony and Steve are alone in building.

Bruce and Natasha are out to dinner, the Guardians back to protect the galaxy, Thor out to space after having muttered something about not believing Loki is really dead (again), Hawkeye to his nest, the Wakandians to their nation.

They can safely say they’re friends again: they almost died, out there in the cold space, facing Thanos, and this has done marvels to their friendship, as mad as it sounds.

“Take away?” Tony suggest.

“Yes, please.”

After having consumed an unhealthy amount of junk food, an awkward silence falls between them; Tony thinks that maybe it’s the right time to talk about the things he wanted to say when he gave Steve his shield back, but just the thought of it makes a panic bubble rise inside him, because how do you talk about two years of stubborn silence?

“I think the circumstances call for getting very, very pissed. We deserved it,” he says instead.

Steve stretches his long, muscular legs in front of the fire and laughs.

“Wishful thinking: I can’t get drunk.”

“Really?”

“Believe me, I tried.”

In the past two years more than is recommended; everytime he heard a phone ring, every time he thought of making that damn phone call himself and he never did. But he can’t bring himself to say it aloud, so he just shrug.

“I think I’ve the solution.” Tony goes to the bar and pour a whisky for himself, then takes a metal flask from the cabinet.

“Thor left it here: it’s Asgardian… stuff. Do you feel adventurous tonight?” Tony teases him.

“Yeah, why not?”

Tony hands him the glass, then he sits on the couch with him.

“Cheers.”

Steve sniffles the liquor and tries a little gulp, widening his eyes in surprise. God, it's strong.

“What it tastes of?”

“Liquid fire!”

It's not strong enough to make him drunk, but there's a pleasant buzz in his stomach, his usually overdeveloped senses are dulled a bit, so he swallows it in one gulp, and Tony promptly refills his glass, while he drinks his whisky as well.

“Do you want to try it?”

“I don’t know. How good are you at CPR?”

It's a lame joke but, inexplicably, Steve finds it funny and starts laughing so much he has to put down the glass on the coffee table. He has missed the giddiness that alcohol brings along.

Tony is equally cheerful, snickering with him and nursing his second whisky: “No, really, that liquor looks like it can knock off an elephant.”

“You’re right: a sip of it and I should bring you to a hospital. It’s a pity, anyway, you would like it: it tastes like strawberries.”

“Like a Kentucky Kiss?”

Steve clicks his tongue on the palate.

“Even better.”

Tony follow the motion with utter fascination and suddenly realizes he has a problem: the word ‘kiss’ has taken possession of his mildly inebriated mind and doesn’t go away.

Kentucky Kiss. 

So many k.

Kiss.

_ Kisskisskiss. _

“You know, there would be a safe way for me to taste it,” Tony says slowly.

It’s a mad, frightening idea. No matter how many ordeals he faced, this… this is terrifying.

And yet so alluring.

Kiss.

So long desired.

Kiss.

“Oh?” Steve’s head lolls on the backrest of the sofa, and he looks intrigued.

Tony closes the distance between them with calculated slowness, to give Steve time to retreat, but he doesn’t move until Tony’s lips are on his own, teasing them apart and licking his way into Steve’s mouth.

It’s sloppy and uncoordinated, but Steve doesn’t punch him across the room, so he’s not averse to it. Indeed he’s fisting Tony’s shirt to bring him closer, and it’s good. 

So good,  _ sososo good. _

When Tony breaks the kiss, he doesn’t open his eyes, but he breaths: “More pomegranate than strawberry.”

“Whatever, shut up,” Steve sighs on his lips, and then kisses him again.

“Yes, Captain.”

They don’t speak again for the rest of the night.

Hungry kisses lead to frantic groping, clumsy stumbling down the hall toward Tony’s bedroom and clothes lost along the route, until they fall on the bed in the darkness, naked and aroused, years of silence and frustration quickly giving way to desire.

It’s frantic, wild, and a bit rude: Tony’s hands roams freely on Steve’s body, squeezing and kneading, until he wriggles free and blocks Tony’s wrists over his head.

Tony holds his breath for a second, but no protests come from his mouth; he doesn’t fight back and spreads his legs to make room for him, so Steve rocks his hips and Tony shivers under him; it’s harsh, dry and absolutely glorious, and soon they’re rutting like animals, the bed banging loudly against the wall, and their moans filling the air.

Steve lets go Tony’s wrists, and suddenly there are sharp nails scratching his buttocks and teeth biting his shoulders. They roll over again and again, pushing, rocking, panting and they come with a stifled cry.

Steve disentangles himself from Tony, but doesn’t leave the bed.

Should he?

Tony’s hand finds its way in his damp hair, and it sounds like a ‘no’, so he closes his eyes and falls asleep.

 

The morning after Steve wakes with a start in the empty bed and the previous night crashes on him.

He and Tony had sex. Well, not an intercourse, but still, they had sex.

He sits up and wait for the panic attack to come, but it doesn’t. Not for the sex part, at least, but he’s afraid of what Tony would think of him now: Steve has always known that Tony has actively sought out his friendship, he tried to meet him halfway many times, he cared, because he really wanted them to be friends; now Tony would have all the reasons to accuse Steve to have used their friendship to have his way with him.

It isn’t what he did, of course: he did what he did last night because he wanted to; it felt right, the whole of it: the light flirting and the explosion of passion, the bites and the feather touches, the kisses and the moans.

But he’s pretty sure that Tony doesn’t want this, he never hinted at it, he just wanted to be friends, and now Steve feels like he has taken advantage of it. He can’t even use the alcohol as an excuse, because none of them was drunk enough: they knew what they were doing all along, from the first kiss to the last shiver of the orgasm.

Tony has been up for hours, sitting at the kitchen table. He’s having a panic attack, but not for the reasons that everyone would think. He’s pretty sure that Steve hates him right now, if he’s already awake; Steve didn’t want what happened between them, he never hinted at wanting a sexual liaison with him, so he dreads the moment Steve will come out of the bedroom, accusing him of having used their renewed friendship just to manipulate and go to bed with him, because Steve sees him as a manipulator, one who always looks for shortcuts and hides the truth.

It’s not nice and it’s not true, but he has never done much to refute this version of himself with Steve.

Last night has been wonderful in its crazy imperfection, and Tony craves to go back in his bedroom for another go, so he is desperately thinking to something to say to save their newborn relationship, if possible.

The door opens, and light steps echoe on the floor: Steve is barefoot when he walks into the kitchen, his hair is rumpled, he has pillow marks on his cheek, and Tony thinks he could burst with happiness if he wasn’t too scared of the moment.

“Uhm… hey…” Steve stammers. 

He doesn’t sit down, but he neither trashes the kitchen or breaks a chair on his head, so Tony deduces that maybe he’s not apocalyptically mad about last night.

“Yo, please sit down. Breakfast?”

“It would be lovely.”

A robot comes in promptly, putting crockery and cutlery in front of him, and busying himself with a pan on the stove. Steve follows the process with attention, or maybe he’s only looking at anything that isn’t Tony Stark, quietly sitting in front of him.

Tony probably isn’t too angry, if he has offered him breakfast, but Steve can’t ignore the elephant in the room anymore.

“Listen Tony, about last night…”

“Friendswithbenefits,” Tony blurts, because he’s in panic, because he’s sure that Steve is about to start a long lecture about it being wrong and regretting it happened, and he can’t listen to it now, he hasn't had his first coffee yet, and because maybe he has find a way to save the situation.

“What?”

Tony clears his throat and goes on, more calm: “Friends with benefits. We can call what happened like that, if you want. I mean, we’re friends,” he doesn’t put it as a question, but stops and dares to look at Steve.

“Of course we are.”

Tony is surprised by the warmth he detects in Steve's voice and this makes him more sure: “And last night was good. Well, it was for me.”

The robot puts two mugs of warm coffee in front of them, and Steve hides his “yes, it was,” and a smile behind the rim.

“See, what happened it’s not so uncommon between friends, you know. Sex is just natural...”

"A biological impulse," Steve endorses and Tony nods.

“Yes, yes, and sometimes it's a way to let off steam. I would say that we have accumulated a lot of tension lately,”

“You can say it, yes,” Steve snorts, putting his mug down, and finally makes eye contact with him. God, he has beautiful eyes.

“That’s it, then. No biggie.”

“No biggie,” Steve parrots, but deep down he’s under the impression that it is something big. Anyway, if Tony see it like that, he wouldn’t argue: frankly he’s too much relieved that Tony isn’t angry with him.

“And…” Tony adds, fussing with his scrambled eggs.

“Yes?” Steve prompts.

“Well, since we both concluded that it was pleasant, we could do it again when the mood strikes. As I said, it’s no biggie, just casual sex, no strings attached.”

“I… I…” Steve feels wrong-footed: he expected a heated, rancorous conversation, instead Tony is proposing to go on with this relationship, even if not in the form he would like.

"Or it may remain a one night stand," Tony hastens to say, misunderstanding his hesitation.

"No, no. I'm not adverse to the friends with benefits… t-thing.”

He couldn’t express himself in a more lame way and he would like to sink into the floor, but he offers Tony a relieved smile.

“Dandy. So, I... guess I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Steve picks up his shoes and jacket and the key of his motel room.

"Aren't you looking for an apartment, yet?"

"You know how it is, I've been slightly busy lately."

Tony snorts a laugh, “Right.”

 

2

The Avengers team assembles once more to refurbish Clint’s farmhouse: it has been neglected for a long time and needs to be refreshed. 

They all show up almost without having planned a meeting, but he and Tony come together in his car. 

Tony called him the night before and insisted that it made no sense to go with two different vehicles to the same destination: car sharing is way more ecological because  _ “you don’t save the planet and then pollute it to death.” _

He just wanted to spend some time with Steve, he has missing him after that night.

The journey is lighthearted and cheerful, and Tony can't almost believe that he went on for two years without seeing Steve. He just wishes it could be more than casual sex, but Steve seemed really relieved when he said it was a non-binding relationship, so he clearly doesn't want anything else.

“What?” Steve asks, intercepting his strange look.

“Nothing.”

“Tony…”

But then they arrives at Clint’s, where everyone is waiting, Tony jumps off the car and cries: “Get your lazy asses in gear,” the moment is lost, and everyone takes care of a different task.

Steve has been cutting wood all morning and is thirsty. He walks into the kitchen, takes a long gulp of fruit juice and puts the bottle back in the fridge, but when he closes the door, Natasha is leaning against the sideboard and watches him.

“What the…” Steve startles: she can move really quietly. “Aren’t you watching after Clint’s children?” he asks, recovering.

“I left them with Scott, playing hide and seek. Honestly, that man is more childish than them: he keeps shrinking down not to be found.”

Steve snorts and shakes his head.

“Do you need anything, Nat?”

“Oh, nothing: just to know why you decided to lose your virginity by being bummed by Tony Stark,” she says, as seraphic as a Buddha, and Steve splutters some gibberish, outraged.

“What… this is not your… Nat… for the last time, I’m not a virgin! And why do you assume I was the one who got bummed?”

Natasha smirks and walks away: “Thank you for confirming me that you and Tony go to bed together.”

“I-I... didn’t!”

“Yes, you did. And, Steve? It was about time.”

Right, after two years on the run together, he should know better than trying to outsmart the Black Widow. 

However, what has just happened doesn't make much sense to him. What did she mean?

In shock, he walks to the attic, where Tony and Dum-E are applying a first coat of paint on the walls. He locks the door behind himself and leans on it.

“Everything alright, Steve? You look pale.”

“Natasha knows about us.”

Tony puts the paintbrush down.

“Whoa, I didn’t think you kiss and tell, Cap.”

“I didn’t! She understood it all by herself. God knows how.”

“Yeah, the woman is terrifying,” he chuckles.

“Aren’t you upset?”

They didn't talk about being out (they didn't talk about anything, actually) and Steve doesn't know if he accidentally crossed some line.

“Nope. You?”

Steve shrugs. He doesn’t know. He genuinely doesn’t know how he feels or how he is supposed to feel: he has never experienced a situation like that.

“Well,” Tony walks to him and smiles, as if he has detected his uneasiness, someway, “I’d say that what friends do is anyone business, right?”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Good.”

Tony kneels down before him in a swift motion, and Steve just gapes at him.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Do you need a drawing?”

Dexterous fingers unbuttons his pants, and Steve is so shocked he doesn’t even try to bat Tony’s hands away.

“Tony…”

“As I said, sex is a way to relax,” he explains, calm and collected, “and right now you’re pretty winded up.”

“Anyone can walk on us at any moment!” Steve hisses, but he doesn’t stop Tony as he lowers his underwear.

“Why? To be given some extra work? I don’t think so. Now, how do you say? Lie back and think of America.”

It’s not the only reason that triggered Tony into wanting him right now: Steve clad in tight denim and a white shirt is simply irresistible, and if some casual sex is the only thing that he will have from him, he will take the best he can of the agreement.

When he takes Steve in his hand, he can’t suppress a low whistle: the other night has been messy and frantic and he didn’t completely realize how much… gifted he was.

“What?” Steve mumbles, a shade of embarrassment in his voice.

"You don't happen to still have some drops of serum, right?"

“Stop it… AH!”

The first touch of Tony’s tongue on his glans is electrical and almost makes him jump. He's tentative at first, but quickly becomes bolder, and like a scientist, he tries different acts to find what makes Steve pant or moan: a phantom lick on the slit, a kiss on the frenulum, just a hint of teeth on the shaft, a long drag of tongue from root to tip.

Tony looks at him, unabashed, assertive, and Steve can’t take his eyes away as he slowly opens his mouth and swallows the whole tip, his lips stretched around the crown.

“Tony…”

Steve’s hands leave the door and fly to Tony’s nape, holding him in place, even if Tony has no intention of pulling back; instead he gets down, down, down on his shaft, slow but relentless.

“Tony, you don’t have to…”

Tony’s eyes show nothing but determination as he grabs the base and bobs his head up and down rhythmically.  _ “I can and I will, Steve. I will drive you crazy.” _

He drags a whimper out of Steve’s mouth when he lets his cock go for a moment, to devote his attention to the testicles, rolling them on the palm of his hand, probing them with his tongue in a long, sweet torture.

Steve’s legs are trembling and only his strong will keeps him standing against the door; he moans louder and louder, and only a warning squeeze on his tight makes him remember where they are.

“We can be vocal another time,” Tony whispers.

“I could be quite if you… oh, oh, OH!”

Tony takes him again in his mouth without warning, and doesn’t stop until his nose is buried in Steve’s coarse hair; he closes his eyes, savouring every moment of it, Steve’s cock pulsing on his tongue, the heady scent of sweat and sex, his erratic breaths.

And then, he swallows.

“AH!”

Steve's fist clenches around a handful of dark hair and he can’t help but rocking his hips, pushing himself deeper in the narrow channel of Tony’s throat. His blood is a roaring inferno in his ear, and when the orgasm washes over him, his vision gets fuzzy at the edges.

Tony sits back on his heels and coughs a bit, causing Steve a immediate sense of guilt.

“Are you alright?”

“Oh yes, it was delicious. In every sense.”

Steve groans, then lays Tony down on the plastic sheets covering the floor and unbuttons his pants hastily. It’s his turn now, and he intends to repay him with the same care.

A discrete throat clearing distracts him from his task, and Tony’s voice is almost hesitant.

“Now, I hope you don’t hold big expectations, ‘cause… mmph…”

Tony’s bad pun dies when Steve crushes their mouths together, and takes a firm grip on Tony’s arousal; the tip is already moist and dripping and it’s throbbing in his hand.

He won’t last long, as embarrassing as it is: he’s almost come watching Steve’s face in ecstasy and he only needs some good friction to get off.

Steve, anyway, has other ideas: he forms a ring with thumb and forefinger, sliding it in at a maddening slow pace on Tony's cock, up and down.

Tony tries to arch his back, but Steve keeps him firmly in place.

"I didn't believe that Captain America was a sadistic torturer," Tony grumbles, and Steve thinks he's adorable, so he bends down to kiss the pout away from his lips, and finally he fists the throbbing erection, pumping hard and fast, driving Tony to the awaited release.

Tony's moans are muffled in Steve's mouth, who continues to kiss him until the last shivers are gone, then he opens his eyes.

Tony is grinning like a goof, and Steve knows his face is not very different.

"Better?" Tony asks.

Steve bites his lips and nods.

"See? I was right."

He is. It’s easy to do, this friends with benefits thing, almost too much, it’s like slipping into a habit. But Steve’s life has been complicated in the last years, so there’s nothing wrong with him wanting something easy and carefree, right?

He looks at Tony, half naked next to him, eyes closed, still panting, and he can’t deny himself that he would like more that some casual sex, but after the painful mess of their battle and the resentful departure of two years before, he doesn’t think he is allowed to demand something more: he is already very lucky to have this.

Tony opens his eyes and starts giggling uncontrollably, so much that he’s contagious.

“What?” Steve askes, breathless.

“We, the place... well, it seems like the set of a cheap porn movie.”

“You started it.”

“I never told it was bad,” he answers with a feline smile, and Steve shuts up once more: what they have is good, things are going surprisingly well and he cannot risk to destroy it.

 

3

There is an explosion in the motel where Steve is staying. Some blockheads who have seen too many episodes of Breaking Bad, try to cook meth in the basement, but they haven’t the slightest basic notion of chemistry, having dropped off school after Junior High, and the result is spectacularly disastrous; no one is injured, but the building is too damaged and must be demolished.

Tony has a hard time not jubilating when he observes the destruction; not because of the explosion itself, dear god no, but because Steve will have to find new accommodation.

He will not, anyway, because the Superbowl final is held here this year, then not even the worst rathole of the city has a free room, so he can propose something he has been thinking about for some time.

"I have to go out of town," Steve grumbles, at the end of yet another useless call to a hotel. 

“Or you can come and stay to my place: it's big enough not to step on each other's toes, and you don't have to fight against the bugs to conquer the bed,” Tony says casually, hands clasped at the back of his head.

"Are you sure it's not a problem?"

"Of course not. We are friends."

“Alright, then. Of course, that’s until I find a new accommodation.”

“Sure.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

 

Steve has a whole floor of Tony's house all to himself, including a sauna and a gym. He could spend whole days without meeting him, but in the evening he always ends up orbiting to Tony's living room upstairs, watching a baseball game or an old movie with him.

Steve is surprised by Tony's choice of movies, he doesn't look like a guy who loves Rebecca or The Maltese Falcon, and maybe he doesn't, he figures out the evening when Tony's head lolls on his shoulder and he falls asleep deeply.

He chooses those movies because he knows that Steve likes them, not him.

But it's okay, this is something that is done between friends, too.

Isn’t it?

After the movie nights, brunch days come. After all, it's stupid to eat separately, when Tony's kitchen is so big that it could easily host a wedding party.

Steve discovers a new side of Tony that surprises him: he is good at cooking, loves it, actually.

Steve has always thought that the "millionaire-playboy-philanthropist" had a plethora of waiters and chefs, but his daily habits are simple, almost frugal.

Tony likes to try new recipes, experimenting with ingredients, and he's adventurous when it comes to trying exotic kitchens (even though the Sardinian cheese with live worms was a little too adventurous for Steve).

He would like to discover other new faces of him.

"What does the chef propose today?" Steve asks jokingly, sitting on the stool.

Tony is busy, keeping three pans under control at the same time, as he moves between the pantry and stove, but finds time to glance over his shoulder.

"Club sandwich with rabbit chasseur, caramelized onion, and balsamic vinegar of Modena."

"Should I start calling you Gordon Ramsay?"

Tony turns around and threatens him jokingly with a spatula: "Behave, Cap, or you’ll skip lunch."

Afterwards, they are eating with their hands, as if they were at a picnic in the park, leaning against the kitchen island and throwing crumbs at each other, laughing.

 

One evening, Steve doesn’t find Tony in the living room; disappointed that their movie night ritual is interrupted he wanders through the house looking for him, and he finds him in the workshop, repairing a robot.

"Hey."

"Hi there."

Steve comes over and looks at what he's doing; Tony's head is bent over the work table, showing his nape and neck, the same nape that he's cradled in his hand, when Tony gave him an impromptu blowjob.

Just the memory of it is enough to make his heart beating faster, and he unconsciously clenches and unclenches his fists, craving to sink his hands in Tony's hair.

Tony glances sideways, and a malicious smile stretches his lips.

"I'm very happy to see you too."

Steve frowns, confused, and Tony has to bite his lip not to laugh.

"Didn't you even notice? I'm very, very flattered."

Tony's eyes slides along his body, stopping at his crotch; Steve follows his look and realizes he has a prominent erection.

"I..." Steve clears his throat.

"Yeah, me too," Tony whispers, getting off the stool. It's intoxicating, to think to have such a strong effect on him, to think that Steve can't walk in a room without wanting to have sex with him, and that maybe he can preserve that labile bond.

"You don't have to interrupt your work," Steve protest, but Tony will have none of it.

"This is way better than ferrules and cogs, believe me."

He rests his lips on Steve's neck, inhaling his scent, and cups his cock over the pants.

"Hmm, hello, I missed you."

Steve tries to huff a laughter, but it's rather breathless: "Don't talk to my penis, it's silly."

“Booh, your papa is so stern,” Tony jokes, as he continues to grope him, “and to think that I wanted to show you a new place to be in, this evening."

Steve's cock twitches violently under Tony's hand, and his breath hitches.

"Someone likes the idea, uh?"

It’s Tony's last bad joke, because Steve yanks his head back, silencing him with a kiss. His hands play a little bit with the dark strand of hair, then slide down along his back, grabbing his buttocks and lifting Tony off the ground.

Tony hooks up his legs around his back and clings to his shoulders, while Steve finds his way to the bedroom.

There are things he would like to tell Steve, like that in those two years of silence, he wanted to call him, meet him somewhere, and kiss him like they are doing now.

But the two of them never communicated well with words, more often they used words to hurt each other, and after all that rough sensuality, made of bites, kisses and groping, seems to work better.

The undressing is hasty, impatient; they roll on the bed, fighting for dominance, until Tony blocks Steve under him. He sits on his thighs and grabs his cock, masturbating him slowly.

"I made you a promise, and I want to keep it."

"Tony ..." Steve's voice is an unusual low growl and makes him shiver.

He reaches out toward the bedside table and fetches the lube, starting to prepare himself under the mesmerized gaze of Steve: his eyes are glassy with desire, his chest is heaving, and his cock is dripping precum along the shaft.

“God Tony…”

Tony pour a generous dose of lube on Steve's cock, coating it, arranges himself in place and descends on him oh so slowly.

Steve throws his head back on the pillow and bites his lip, but Tony shakes his hips.

"No," he pants, "as I told you, we can be vocal, here. Let it go."

And Steve does it, crying his pleasure across the room, as Tony keeps going down, down, down, until he's fully seated on him.

"AAH!"

Tony is wonderful, hot and tight around him; Steve is almost vibrating under him, there's a fire in his veins and a voice in his head that's chanting take him,  _ takehimtakehimtakehim _ .

He moves, but Tony moans, pressing his hands on his quivering abdomen.

"Just give me a moment: little Cap is not exactly little."

Steve groans, covering his face with his arms: he's still not used to Tony's vernacular compliments, but it helps to make the burning heat recede a bit.

Tony undulates his hips as he gets used to Steve, then gets up a little on his knees, straightens up and slams down again.

“Oh yes! That’s the spot,” he cries, as he clenches around his erection.

"FUCK!" Steve sees the stars and he can't help but arching his back, seeking that delicious friction, eliciting a deep moan from Tony.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he babbles, afraid he has been too rough.

Tony strokes his cheek with his finger. "Don't be: it’s wonderful. Do it again."

Steve grabs Tony by the hips, rocking his hips up, trying to hit the spot that makes him shudder with pleasure.

“Holy… shit…”

There are things he would like to tell Tony, like that he’s sorry to have hurt him, that Tony didn’t deserve it, and that, if he could, he would spend his life making him happy instead.

But he’s almost overwhelmed by the intensity of that moment and can do nothing but pounding into him with a relentless rhythm.

“Yeah, like that Steve, don’t stop.”

Tony grabs his own cock, pumping it, and when his eyes meet Steve's, he's done and he climaxes on his belly.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck…” Steve chants, as he lifts his hips from the mattress and spends himself inside Tony.

After, he rises to kiss Tony, as he disentangles himself, only a passing discomfort on his face, and lies down on the mattress, chuckling lightly.

"What is it?" Steve asks, a matching smile tugging at the corner of his lips: Tony's laugh is always contagious, no matter what.

"I’m craving to say it."

"To say what?"

"Captain, language!"

"Oh, shut up, would you?" Steve shakes his head and slaps playfully Tony on the chest.

“Who would have thought?” Tony mocks, rising on a elbow “you have the heart of a hero and the mouth of a sailor.”

“I say shut up!” Steve laughs.

"Make me," he dares, raising his chin defiantly.

"You asked for it!" Steve answers, jumping on him.

 

The morning after sees Steve sit on the couch, his legs stretched on the coffee table, and an almost comatose Tony lying with his head on Steve tights. Maybe they’re gone too far the night before, and he starts to feel guilty.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes: it was my dream to be killed by Captain America’s undying stamina.”

Steve gulps noisily and Tony nuzzles his nose on the rough denim. “Hey, I’m joking. I'm just a little out of practice for three times in a row.”

Still slightly embarrassed at the thought of how he let himself go, Steve pets tentatively Tony's hair, and Rhodey finds them just like that, when he walks abruptly in the living room.

"For God sake, Tony! I've been calling your for two hours. Would it kill you to answer your ph..."

He stops and his mouth clicks shut loudly at the sight of his best friend draped over Steve's legs.

Steve is like a deer caught in the headlights, while Tony is totally unperturbed.

"Well, I… I've the keys," Rhodey explains, "Sorry, I should have ringed."

"What is it, buddy?" Tony asks, and he doesn't seem he wanna move from that comfortable position.

"You forgot!" Rhodey sighs, exasperated, and it's enough to shake the awkwardness of the moment away.

"I didn't!" Tony whines. "About what?" he adds after a moment, and Steve can't help but snickers.

"The meeting at the Town Council? It's in less than an hour!"

"Oh that. Right."

Tony rises, and a wince and a little limp in his gait reveal to Rhodey more than he wanted to know. The deep red blush on Steve's face is the ultimate confirmation he needs.

"I hope to come back early," Tony says to Steve as he put on his shoes, "I got my hands on a delicious San Daniele ham, and I've a recipe in mind with ricotta and white asparagus.”

“Sound good.”

“I’ll be right back,” Tony says with a wink, and leaves the room, promptly followed by his friend.

Rhodey is waiting for a detailed explanation.

He waits as Tony going downstairs, whistling, waits as he fetches the newspaper from the mailbox, waits as he carefully sits down on Rhodey's car, and he's still waiting as they drive away.

Tony fusses with the radio, jumping from one channel to another, until Rhodey can't resist anymore and he stops on a hard shoulder of the highway.

"What is it? Is your rattletrap broken again? Honestly Platypus, you should buy a new one."

"Cut the crap, Tony! What the hell I've just seen in your living room?"

"Is there a festival of rhetorical questions and no one warned me?"

"So, you and Steve are... together?"

"Is this a problem for you?" Tony crosses his arms over his chest, looking at him warily.

"No, and you know it very well. I'm just surprised, after all the shit that happened between the two of you. But if you talked and reconciled, I'm happy for you." He's about to start the car again, when a thought occurs to him, and he glances suspiciously at Tony. "Because you talked about everything, right?"

"Who do you think you are, my mother?"

"So you didn't. How shocking," he grumbles, his voice dripping sarcasm.

“There was nothing to talk about, it just… sort of… happened, and it still happening. What's your problem with it, Rhodey?"

"I'm not the one with a problem here, and I'm only worried about you. Deeply, Tony."

"You don't need to. Steve and I are adult."

"Well, you aren't exactly behaving like that."

"I clarify: we are consenting adult, and what we do is nobody's business. We are just a couple of friends with benefits who have casual sex, it's not such a big deal."

"Friends? We are friends, and it never crossed our minds to go to bed together."

"Maybe you aren’t my type," Tony tries to joke, but Rhodey isn't in the mood for it.

"And about casual sex..." Rhodey shakes his head, "Tony, I've known you for years, you have never did anything casual, let alone going to bed with the man you are in love and who has disintegrated your trust in him."

Tony gulps, because Rhodey is right, it’s not casual to him, but he hides himself behind his shades and jokes again: "Your worry for me is beyond cute, but completely unnecessary. Steve and I are just having some fun, and you watch too many soap operas."

"And you'll end up hurting yourself, again!" Rhodey insists, "it's much more than fun for you, when it comes up to Steve Rogers."

"But that's what it is for him."

"How can you be sure, since you didn't talk?"

"I understood it, okay? It wasn't that hard: Steve was climbing the walls with nervousness, but as soon as I said we could keep it carefree, he relaxed. It's what he wants."

"And are you okay with it?"

"It's not a sacrifice, you know? Indeed it's extremely enjoyable, especially when I..."

"Stop there."

Rhodey knows this will not go anywhere, Tony will keep deflecting his objections. He only hope he will not have to pick up the pieces of his broken heart again.

"Start the car, now we're really in late for the meeting."

"As you like, Tony."

 

4

Tony has been out all day and this gives Steve the chance to do something to repay his hospitality.

He feels guilty, because he hasn't even started looking for a new accommodation since he was there, it's like he's taking advantage of the lazy, comfortable days going, by to stretch that temporary situation forever, and the least he can do to thank Tony is cooking dinner.

Well, fried chicken wings and mashed potatoes pale, if compared with Tony's cooking, but he tried his best, and he's sure that they'll have a good laugh about it.

But dinner time comes and goes and when it's 9 p.m., Steve feels a little antsy.

"Hm... F.R.I.D.A.Y?"

"Yes, Mr. Rogers?"

"Do you know where Tony is?"

"Yes: Mr. Stark left this morning for Los Angeles, where he had a meeting with Miss Potts. Do you want me to call him?"

Steve's throat is suddenly as dry as sandpaper, as he stands shocked and dumbfounded in the middle of the kitchen.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. has to ask him three times more, before getting an answer.

"No, don't call him."

"As you wish, Mr. Rogers. Do you feel unwell? Your heartbeat is accelerated and your blood pressure is suddenly high."

"I'm fine!" Steve barks, his voice harsh and clipped.

He's not, of course: Pepper has been out of the picture since they came back to earth after having defeated Thanos, and Tony never mentioned her again, so it's quite a shock to know that they're seeing each other again.

Steve remembers perfectly the day she left Tony's house because he was there, celebrating the victory with the other Avengers.

_ She appeared on the threshold of the living room, nodding to Tony to follow her, and Steve didn't exactly spied on them, he was just there, coming back from the loo, and unintentionally eavesdropped their conversation. _

_ Tony noticed she had a trolley with her, but he didn't understand at the beginning. _

_ "Oh, are you leaving? Early work meeting tomorrow that I forgot about?" _

_ Pepper sighed, looking at him equally with fondness and aggravation. _

_ "No, I'm just leaving." _

_ A beat passed, then Tony sighed deeply. _

_ "Why?" _

_ "You know perfectly why." _

_ "No Pepper, I don't know, I don't know why you walk away, again, when we won and everything has worked out for the best!" _

_ "Because I want it to stop, I want you to stop, and you will never stop." _

_ "That's not true." _

_ "It is: we've been at here already. When you destroyed your suits, you promised it would have been the last time, that you would retire, and look at how it ended." _

_ Tony massaged his temples, incredulous. _

_ "I did promise, but Pepper, there was a mad giant purple alien that cancelled half of the people of the universe. The whole universe! I would say this was an exception to the rule, but it's over now." _

_ "No, it isn't: I was in your office, Tony, and I saw that you're planning new improvements for the Iron Man suit." _

_ "It's just a precaution for emergencies." _

_ Pepper shook her head, saddened. _

_ "That's the point: there will always be an emergency, something unexpected, and you can never stand by and watch." _

_ "You talk as if it were a crime." _

_ "No, it isn't. It's noble, and the final proof that Tony Stark has a heart, but it's not for me, not anymore." _

_ "That's it, then." _

_ Tony's voice didn't even sound disappointed, just tired. _

_ "I'm afraid it is. Goodbye, Tony." _

_ When Pepper's heels ticked on the floor toward the main door, Steve retreated in the shadow, but inside himself he wasn't sorry. _

_ Well, he was sorry 'cause Tony felt blue about the break up, but he wasn't sorry that Pepper had gone. _

_ He was in front of the tv, when, a year before, Tony announced to the world their formal engagement with a shiny ring, and he had thought: "What you've got yourself into, Tony? You already broke up in the past, it didn't work, why should it work now?" _

_ Natasha was with him, back them, and watched him carefully, until Steve switched off tv and spent the rest of the day walking back and front in their secret shelter. _

_ He was sure that Tony would have been better off without Pepper. _

 

But now, standing there, he just feels like an idiot for having cared so much, for having let Tony got under his skin, for having thought that it was something more than a friends with benefits arrangement.

Anyway, he's the only one to blame, Tony has been crystalline about the nature of their relationship: just sex, no strings attached, they never talked about being exclusive, and of course he has run back to his sweet, petit former girlfriend at the first occasion.

 

Tony parks the car and rolls slowly his head: he's knackered; going and coming back from L.A. in a day hasn't been his brightest idea, but he was eager to come home to Steve. It's too late to cook something, but they can order in a pizza and watch tv.

The meeting with Pepper was better than he thought, there was awkwardness for sure, but they kept it civil; he hoped it would be short, but apparently taking back his industries from a resigned c.e.o. is more complicated than expected. They even had to call some lawyers and urged them to join their meeting to overcome bureaucratic obstacles, and they spent almost all the time signing thousand papers.

But now that chapter is over, this time for good, he’s sure.

A faint smell hits his nostrils as he jogs up the stairs, and a delighted smile stretches his lips: Steve has cooked something.

Indeed Steve is in the kitchen, next to the table, but Tony doesn’t notice the taut line of his shoulders, or his clenched fists, as he toes off his shoes and throws the jacket on the nearest chair.

"God, you're an angel: I was just thinking that I'm starving. My word, Steve, you can't imagine how..."

_ … boring work meetings are, _ Tony would end his sentence like that, but Steve doesn't give him the time: he doesn't want to know about how wonderful was to meet Pepper again, how nice is her smile, or anything about her, so he grabs Tony by the shoulders, ripping a surprised yelp out of him, and kisses him almost ferociously, dragging him against the table and crushing him in his embrace.

If casual sex is everything he will ever have from him, then Steve will have the best sex of his life.

There's almost a hint of alarm in Tony's eyes when Steve tears his shirt and lifts him, but Steve puts a hand on his chest, pushing gently, and Tony lies down on the table.

He want to consume him, to make him scream and sob with pleasure, to erase every thought from his mind, but fear is the last thing he wants.

Tony catches up: something is off in him tonight, he's not relaxed and his eyes are stormy, but it's very hard to think when Steve is tormenting his nipples, laving them with his rough tongue and pinching them until they're hard and throbbing. Then Steve is on his lips again with kisses and bites, while his hands caress incessantly the prominent hip bones, promising delight but not satisfying him yet.

He lowers Tony’s pants, dragging his nails along the firm thighs, making him shiver. Tony's arousal is tending the black briefs, but Steve doesn't free him yet, licking and sucking through the silk.

"God... god, Steve… yesyesyes..." Tony pants, closing his eyes, and that's what Steve wants, to be Tony's only thought.

That's a bottle of olive oil on the table and it will do it.

He coats his finger and cautiously presses it inside the tight hole, moving it around until it meets a bundle of nerves, and Tony's eyes open wide.

"Yes! There!"

But Steve quickly retreats his finger, leaving him unfulfilled. He repeat the motion again, always grazing his prostate for a brief second, not long enough to give him real pleasure, but enough to keep him on the edge; then he bends over to suck him, just the tip, letting go every time he shudder, teasing him, and Tony is drenched in sweat, writhing on the table.

He brings him on the verge of the orgasm three times, until Tony is sobbing with frustration, only then he penetrates him, losing himself again in the welcoming heat of his body, relishing as his walls contract around his cock.

"Fuck Tony..."

"That... AH GOD! shouldbemyline."

Always witty, always confident, always Tony Stark.

He has been a constant in his life after the reawakening, and he can't lose him.

He don't want to lose him.

So he desperately tries to bond Tony to himself with sex, to offer him what no one else could.

While he's pounding inside him, Tony's hands fly to his aching cock, but Steve bats them away.

"Steve..."

"No! Come like that."

Steve finds a new angle, hitting his prostate with every deep thrust, and making him jolt from the table. He closes his eyes, chasing after his orgasm, push after push, and when he comes, he doubles over Tony.

He stays there for long moments, catching his breath, when he think he has to finish Tony too; he opens his eyes, feeling guilty, and he notices that Tony’s chest is soiled with ropes of semen: he has come too, then he has fallen asleep immediately after, worn-out with exertion, and now he’s snoring lightly.

Steve gently raises him in his arms, takes him to the bedroom and covers him with the duvet, but this time he doesn't stay to sleep with him, it doesn’t feel right.

He goes into his room and sit heavily on the bed, taking his head between his hands.

“Shit…” he whispers in the darkness.

 

5

Steve hasn't come upstairs for two days, and Tony can’t figure out why.

The more he thinks about it, the more he’s sure that something is wrong with Steve,and he is determined to find out why, so he goes downstairs, a dinner in mind as a peace offer (whatever he has done), but what he sees, freezes him in place: Steve is sitting at the desk, surrounded by real estate newspapers, circling with a yellow marker some of them.

"Hey... what are you doing?"

"Oh, hello Tony. I'm searching for a new accommodation: I think it's about time," he answers, sounding neutral.

Tony's face seems to be carved out of marble.

"I see."

He doesn't offer anything anymore, and he's about to retreat, when Steve's phone rings: it’s Sam. He and Nat have just come back from a mission and he feels like celebrating, so he invites Steve to join them.

"It has been a long time."

"You're right, Sam. I'm coming."

"Wonderful: Banner, Scott and Sharon will be here, too."

Steve closes the call: he hasn't seen Sharon in years, and he has never thought of her, but he can’t help to be a little petty, and tells Tony: “Sam invited me to have a drink with some friends. Sharon will also be there.”

After all, why shouldn't he do it? He wasn’t the one who ran to L.A. to meet Pepper.

Tony just nods, but doesn’t say anything, and Steve thinks he’s right: Tony doesn’t care who he goes out with, because there’s nothing more than sex between them. 

He has the right to look around.

 

As soon as Steve is on his bike, Tony closes his eyes and sighs: apparently, it's over.

Despite his attempts to keep Steve, the movies, the dinners, the time together, it’s clear that for Steve there has never been anything more. 

And he can only blame himself: he was the one to propose that arrangement, to say that they could just have fun, that there should be no ties or exclusivity.

Steve simply took him at his word.

And he can’t do anything about it, even if it hurts.

Rhodey was right, but he already knew.

He should have known better.

On his way out of the room, he angrily closes the newspaper of real estate ads and throws it to the floor.

 

It's nice to see Sam again: Steve doesn't ask for details, but apparently some of the Avengers are working for Fury and Hill now; defeated the alien enemy, old enemies resurfaced: terrorists, wannabe dictators, psychotic criminals.

"No rest for the wicked, you know," Sam jokes.

"Yeah... hey, where's Sharon?"

"She took a phone call, she's probably outside."

"I was surprised to hear she was here: I thought she was still working with the C.I.A.."

"She was Ross' second in command, but when he resigned, she did too, and Fury was more than happy to have her."

"Ross resigned?"

"Yeah, someone from the top said that he being married with Strange was a conflict of interest, or some shit like that, and asked him to choose. Ross chose his husband, of course."

"Really? He doesn't seems the kind of guy who chooses love over work."

"People are full of surprises when it comes to sentiments."

"I wish you were right."

Sam frowns: "What?"

"Nothing, I go to say hello to Sharon."

She sits on a bench and spots him, but being still on the phone, she gestures with her forefinger, asking him to wait.

And Steve wait, awkwardly shifting his weight from one feet to another, as she continues to talk, firm and assertive.

She looks like a stranger to him, but to think about it, has there ever been something between them, besides a perfunctory friendship? They got close only because of Peggy.

"No Michael, that's not the line of action we decided, there are no reasons to change the plan... what? No, we're not talking about it on Monday, it's already done. Bye, have a nice week end."

She closes the call and shrugs.

"Hey, everything's alright?"

"Yeah, just a colleague with some problems with authority. Female authority, to be honest."

“I’m sorry for him,” Steve snickers, as he sits beside her.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“That’s for sure. So, do you like your new job?"

"Yes, quite. Work at C.I.A. started to feel like a constraint to me, they value bureaucracy over results, so when Everett resigned I just took the opportunity Fury offered me."

"He didn’t do it out of a spirit of giving, you know.”

Sharon rolls her eyes: “I know: I wasn't born yesterday.”

“And how are you? In a broader term, I mean.”

“I’m fine.”

She refrains to say too much about herself and doesn’t seems to have nothing to say, while Steve starts to feel uneasy about the dying conversation: it’s not going as he imagined.

“Uh, Sharon?”

“Hm?”

“Do you… do you ever happen to think about our kiss?”

“No.”

The abrupt answer makes Steve looks at her, dumbfounded: it's definitely not going as he imagined.

"Is this what it's all about? Are you having a guilt trip because you think you attempted at my virtue or something?"

No, that’s not what Steve is thinking, but he's too taken aback to answer.

“Jesus Steve, it was more than two years ago and I never thought of it again. It was a mistake, clearly, I didn't know what got into me back then: it was a fucked up moment, with you Avengers on the brink of a war, but no harm done, I promise."

“I see…”

Suddenly everything feels wrong, and Steve regrets having come: what is he doing here? Chasing a ghost? Sharon is right: there was never anything between them, except for a momentary madness that led nowhere.

He feels like the biggest of the fools.

Meantime, Sharon keeps on talking: “We both moved on, and I think it was for the best.”

He’s going to ask her why she's talking of both of them, then another thought hits him: “Moved… are you seeing someone?”

“I’m engaged, actually.”

“Oh, that’s good… and, do you like him?”

Sharon bursts out laughing: “Of course, or I wouldn’t be engaged to him!”

“Right…” God, he’s trash at casual conversation.

“And talking about it, I think I'll go home now. It has been a pleasure to see you again, Steve."

"Yep, yep, same."

“And bring my greetings to Tony.”

“What?”

Steve’s smile turns so sour that Sharon stops, puzzled.

"Well, my last mission was with Natasha. Surveillance at most, boring as hell, and we had lot of time on our hands, so we chatted a bit, but..." his cloudy face tells her something is wrong: maybe they're not in the open, as stupid as it sounds, but it's not her business. "If it's a secret, I will keep my mouth shut, scout's honor."

She gestures to zip up her lips and waves goodbye.

As soon as Sharon is back in the house, excusing herself out, another voice makes him jump in surprise.

"What are you doing?"

"For heaven's sake, Nat, is your new mission trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Don't deflect my question, Steve, you know it doesn't work with me."

She is angry, almost fuming, and god knows if he understand why.

"There's nothing to deflect, I was doing nothing wrong, just talking to a friend."

"Oh, please… Consider yourself lucky that your pathetic attempt in flirting was so lame she didn't recognise it, or she would have shot you. Not that you don't deserve it, by the way."

"What the hell is all about? And why did you tell Sharon about me and Tony? You had no right to do that!"

"It was just a chat, we didn't talk only about you, and in any case this doesn’t justify you for trying to have your foot in both camps."

"That's not what's going on."

Natasha arches an eyebrow, freezing him on the spot with her glance.

“You were trying to chat her up, while you’re with Tony.”

“I’m not with Tony,” Steve barks angrily.

“You live with him!”

"It's not like that," Steve insists, "There's nothing between Tony and me, just casual sex."

"What?"

"We are friends with benefits."

"Do you really believe it?"

"That's what it is."

"You may tell it to someone who hasn't seen you pining for Tony Stark for years, not to me."

"I never pined after him!"

"That's the biggest bullshit I've heard in my life, and I've been in the KGB. I’ve lived with you, I’ve seen you, therefore I know that you love him, Steve. If you came here tonight, trying to chat Sharon up, it means that he has hurt you, so you were trying to hurt him in turn, and honestly, now I don't know who I want to kill first!"

“A couple of days ago he met Pepper,” Steve says finally, even if he know it’s like admitting that Nat is right.

Natasha frowns, failing to grasp his point, so Steve goes on: “He was the one who clearly shows he doesn’t care, running to her as soon as she batted her eyelashes.”

“Did you ask him why he met Pepper?”

Steve grumbles something unintelligible, and Natasha asks him to speak louder.

"I say no!" Anyway he won't tell her what he and Tony did instead of talking, he would rather get tortured by Nazis.

“Well, I think you should: having an adult conversation once in a while won’t kill you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Natasha throws her arms in the air: “Fine, I give up!” and she leaves just like that, muttering something like  _ “men are so stupid” _ .

 

When he goes back at Tony's place, all lights are off, then he's already gone to bed, or to Pepper again.

Whatever, he doesn't care, he's tense and tired, and doesn't want to talk to Tony now, even if Nat's words are still chasing him. 

He leaves a trail of clothes behind him towards the bathroom and takes a very long hot shower, hoping that the water will take away some of the tension he feels.

He doesn't bother to dress again, enters the bedroom naked and his steps come to an abrupt halt when he senses he's not alone.

“Who’s there?”

“Don’t break my neck, it’s just me.”

“Tony?”

Tony emerges from the shadows, wearing a dressing gown, and walks towards Steve, glancing appreciatively at his body.

If Steve has really decided to leave, then Tony will show him what he is missing.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was waiting for you: I hoped you were up for some mattress gymnastics,” he murmurs, stroking Steve’s pectorals. He decides not to ask anything of the evening at Sam's house, telling himself that he doesn't care, and he hopes that what they are about to do is enough to obliviate any thought of it.

It's a bad idea, Steve thinks, probably the mothership of all the bad ideas, but he has long since given up trying to resist Tony, it's a waste of time.

He doesn't want to resist.

Physical attraction plays a key role, it's unquestionable, because every touch of Tony goes under his skin, the smell of his body is a turn on, bout it's not only that: he's in love with him, Nat was right (again), therefore he nods curtly, not trusting his voice to cover adequately his sentiments.

"Good," Tony shakes the gown off his shoulders, and caresses a peaked nipple with his thumb, relishing in Steve's sudden hiss of pleasure. "I was thinking we can try something new tonight."

"Yes."

Steve doesn't even ask what it is, and the trust that radiates from that little word is unsettling for Tony.

_ "This is a low blow, Cap," _ he thinks.

He kisses him, and Steve's arms are around his back, the contact between their bodies is electric, the scent of Tony's expensive colony intoxicating, and soon they’re moaning and groping each other.

At least, when it comes up to sex, they're still on the same page.

“On the bed, on your four,” Tony whispers, and Steve does, even if a shiver of nervousness runs through his body for the vulnerable position.

Tony’s left hand is on his hip, soothing, reassuring, while the right one is pushing between Steve's shoulder blades, to make him lower his arms, then he kneads his round buttocks.

“Just tell me if you don’t like it, okay?”

Steve snorts and rolls his eyes, even if he knows Tony can't see him.

"Rest assured that I won't feel emasculated just because you... OOH... OOH FUCK!"

He expected for Tony to prepare him with his fingers, as they did before, he didn't expect this: Tony's tongue lapping his hole in a swift motion, leaving him eager for more.

Steve's passionate reaction is everything Tony needs to know, so he bends down and laps at him again, slower this time, dragging his tongue from the perineum to the base of his spine, and then down again, ticking the opening.

Steve's knees threaten to give out, and he muffles his cry in the pillow.

“Hush, the best is yet to come,” Tony whispers, and then the tip of his tongue is inside him, probing, teasing, driving Steve absolutely crazy.

Steve's hands reach blindly the headboard and squeeze it with such force they bend the metal as if it were clay: there is a fire inside him, which starts from where Tony's tongue touches him, and radiates throughout his body, trapping him in a endless hell of pleasure.

Every sigh, every scream, every tremor is a balm for Tony: he want to ravish him, he wants to own him, he wants to be Steve's world, if only for the wee hours of the night. 

If he is the first to rim him, then he wants Steve to always think of him, even if there will be someone else in his life in the future, then he doesn't stop licking and sucking, and scraping the delicate flesh with his goatee.

He trails his lips along Steve’s spine to the base of his neck, damp with sweat, and bites the protruding vertebra, before going down again, blowing on the wet hole.

Steve's skin ripples in gooseflesh, and he slams a fist against the wall, cracking it.

"Christ, Tony!"

Steve’s balls are drawn up and heavy, and his cock is dripping secretions on the duvet when Tony takes pity on him, grabs him by the hips and pushes his erection inside him, grunting his relief.

“Fuck…”

Steve is hot, clenching around his erection almost spasmodically every time that Tony slams into him.

“Tony, I need…”

“I know.”

Tony grabs his erection, pumping it, and he doesn’t stop until they’re spent and sated.

He weights on Steve's back for a while, catching his breath, then he pulls out, as Steve lies down on the mattress.

Tony would like to stay, but somehow it doesn't feel right, so he touches Steve's shoulder, so softly that Steve thinks he imagined it, and leaves the room.

 

+1

Tony is sitting on the windowsill, a forgotten glass of whisky between his fingers, thinking.

It’s not like him to be overly meditative, but the whole situation is not like him and by now, he no longer has excuses to run away and avoid behaving like an adult.

So, right now, Tony is trying to pinpoint when it changed between he and Steve; because it changed, that’s sure, going from from fun, easygoing sex to that heartbreaking heaviness.

Or maybe it has never been casual sex from the beginning, maybe they were never friends with benefits.

Yeah, there’s so much between them that casual sex would never work, he should have known it better.

But he was so desperate to have Steve close to him again, after those years of distance, that he said the first thing that crossed his mind, hoping it would work.

And for a while it worked, it was beautiful and sexy, and he certainly doesn’t regret what has happened, but now it is as if all the unresolved issues are slowly oozing out, erecting a wall between them.

There are words that Tony wants to say him:  _ “I love you, you’re important to me, don’t go,” _ but he doesn’t know if they will be able to pass over the wall they have accidentally built and reach Steve.

He puts down his glass of whiskey and rests his head on a bent knee, closing his eyes.

He doesn't know how long he stays like that, but suddenly Steve is calling his name, and he jerks his head up.

Steve, who seems to be touching his shoulder, freezes.

"Sorry, I didn't want to scare you."

"You didn't."

Steve shifts his body weight from one foot to the other and sinks his hands into the pockets of his jeans, clearly uncomfortable.

"What are you doing?"

Tony shrugs, then leans his head against the window pane: "Nothing."

The room is dark, lit only by the lights of the city at night.

"May I join you?"

"Sure, the  _ 'let's stare in the void' _ club registrations are open."

Steve wonders if there is anything that can tarnish Tony's sense of humor. Deep down, he hopes that it doesn't exist.

They have to talk: there are things that Tony has the right to know, that he should have told him from the beginning of that relationship, and other things, even older.

It's better to start with those.

Steve sits on the window sill and lifts one leg, mirroring his pose.

"I... I'm sorry," he begins, but he doesn't know how to proceed: for the first time in his life he hasn't prepared a speech, but Tony doesn't interrupt him, he simply moves his gaze from the urban landscape outside to Steve.

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell what happened to your parents: you had the right to know, and by not telling you I was just..."

"... sparing yourself. You already said it in your letter."

"I've been afraid that you never read it."

"I did, so many times I memorized every word. And I think I understood why you acted like that, in the end. It’s alright."

"Is it? I can’t help but thinking that you have every right to stay angry at me."

"I don't like angry between us: nothing good happens when we let the Hulk side of us emerge," he says, smiling a little.

"Tony, I'm aiming for seriousness here."

"Sorry, not my forte. And then, it's long forgotten Steve, if it's troubling you."

“It still does,” Steve admits, “"We were friends, but I betrayed your trust. This is not how a friend behaves, and that letter wasn't enough."

"You left me the phone too, and I never used it."

Steve shakes his head: "It wasn't you who had to take the first step."

"I never cared about hierarchies. I could have called you, but I didn't, even if I wanted to."

“Why?”

"Back then, I didn't have the words to tell you what I wanted to say, and the whole situation was a mess."

"A shitty mess," Steve endorses, "But if it hadn't been a mess, what would you have said?"

Tony gulps, as he lowers his eyes and whispers: "That I was sorry too, that I wanted you to come back, not for an emergency, not because Capitan America was needed to save the world, but because I missed you every day."

Here, it's all out now, but Tony doesn't have to wait long before Steve stretches his leg and touches his with the tip of his foot.

"They look frighteningly like the words I wanted to tell you. I traveled the world while I was a fugitive, and a couple of times I found myself in the same city where you were. My biggest regret is that I never showed up. I wish I had done it, I wish I'd talked to you then, like we're talking now."

"Are you telling me that we could spare ourselves years of pain?"

"Well, it looks like that."

Tony snorts a laugh: "I feel like a colossal idiot right now, and I really hope you feel the same."

Steve smiles for the first time since he set foot in the room: "I do, I promise."

The mood changes, then, and the sense of viscous heaviness that floated between them in the last few days dissipates, leaving them in an uncharted territory. Where to go from here? Tony has an idea, and if there is something that conversation has taught him, it's that every missed chance is lost forever, so he would better speak up now.

Besides, Steve's confession left him slightly confused: if he wanted to reach to him, why he wanna go away now? Why Sharon, so suddenly? They were happy... it makes no sense.

“May I ask you something, too?”

“Sure, everything.”

“Why do you want to leave?”

Ah, that’s it, the core of the problem.

"I'm afraid I wasn't completely honest with you. I said I was okay with this whole friends with benefits arrangement, but the truth is that it was something different for me... Tony, do you really believe that there could be no strings attached between us, after everything that happened?"

Tony pushes his feet against Steve’s, seeking for contact: “No, you’re right: there’re strings, they've been here for a long time, even if we couldn’t see them.”

“Then you understand why I have to leave: we never talked about exclusivity, it's true, but now that Pepper is back…”

“Pepper? What about her?” Tony looks at him, utterly confused, “I’m not with Pepper anymore, you know it, and can you really talk, after having run to Sharon?”

This hits too close to home, but Steve still tries to stand his ground: he has his reasons, after all!

“I know that you are seeing Pepper again, and maybe it's nothing to you, but…”

“It was only a business meeting.”

“What?”

“A boring, awfully embarrassing business meeting, because Pepper was still the c.e.o. of my industries, and she wanted to be out of it. Apparently you can defeat Thanos, but not the love of America for bureaucracy.”

Shit, he should have asked, he bloody should, instead he let himself be devoured by emotion, without thinking, because Tony Stark is the only one capable of getting under his skin to the point of making him act like a lovefool.

Because it’s true, he is in love with Tony.

He is also an idiot.

“Well, when F.R.I.D.A.Y. told me you jumped on a plane to meet her, I thought… why didn’t you tell me anything?”

“Because it wasn’t important, I swear: we spent the day signing papers ad nauseam. I was there, but I just wanted to come home and… wait a moment, are you jealous?” Tony looks at him in disbelief.

“No! I don’t know… maybe…” Steve grumbles: he knows he’s making a fool of himself, but he can’t help it, “Probably.”

It all makes sense now: Tony had realized that something was wrong that night, but he hadn't asked, choosing to pretend that nothing weird happened, hiding it under the rug along with all the other unresolved issues that were piling up.

A stupid misunderstanding and the most important relationship in his life was almost in pieces. Rhodey was right, they should have talked instead of hiding behind sex.

“And, well,” Steve goes on, “if you want to know, nothing happened between Sharon and me last night: I looked at her and saw a stranger, to the point that I wondered what I was doing there.”

Tony bends his body toward him: "Well, as it seems we're in the mood for confessions, here's mine: it has never been just casual sex for me, too. Don’t get me wrong, the sex is great, no regrets in that department…”

Steve huffs a laugh: “Yeah, same.”

“But it has been much more, since the first time. I searched a way to keep you close, without scaring you with something like..."

“Like what?”

“I love you,” he whispers, leaning his forehead on Steve’s, and Steve thinks that people don’t give enough credit to Tony Stark; they think that he is the brave one, that he isn’t afraid of anything, yet it has been Tony who uttered those words that change everything, because behind  _ "I love you" _ there isn’t only explosive sex, there is the recognition of those strings, there is commitment, there is a road to travel together towards the future, still unknown, and this is huge, this is frightening.

Nonetheless, he didn’t imagine it, Tony has just whispered  _ "I love you" _ to him, so he does the only right thing to do, he wraps his arms around Tony's body, and whispers back, “I love you.”

"Does it mean we can put aside the friends with benefits thing?"

"Yup."

"Great. Now, what do you say if I introduce you to the concept of make-up sex?"

 


End file.
